A House Divided Cannot Stand    Right?
by Whyntir
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is finishing his high school year in England as a foreign exchange student. When a new student arrives to live with them, Alfred finds himself in one of the worst situations his 17-year-old mind can comprehend. Takes place in 1974. APH AU.
1. Polars

**A/N: This is a little thing to work on between Writer's Block. I'm almost done with Lost in the Abyss chapter 4, but it seems to be a little awkward. I'll go over it once I get it out of my head. I just can't edit when I know it is my work. So, I'll work on this lil thing. Enjoy~**

* * *

Alfred leaned back in his chair as the teacher droned on about literature. Mr. Kirkland was so boring, all business like and a 'gentleman'. He had a heavy British accent, but it wasn't unusual since he was in London for his schooling. Actually, he was a foreign exchange student and living _with_ Mr. Kirkland. That wasn't weird at all . . . The guy was single and not really good at relating to children, even worse they were related. You totally couldn't tell since the Brit seemed to always have a persistent stick up his ass. Was the guy ever young? That would be a question never to be answered; but he _could_ be a kid at heart. Like a _little_ kid. Arthur Kirkland was a fairy nut, thinking they were real and talking to the air. It was seriously embarrassing, but since Arthur didn't understand that, Alfred felt embarrassed for him. But seriously, Americans would never be embarrassed unless it was to help someone else. Yeah, totally! They weren't the heroes of the world for nothing man!

Still, Alfred couldn't help but be glad that he wouldn't be the only one with the somewhat disturbing man after school. Some other exchange student was coming to live with them, _YEEEEEEEESSSSSS!_ He really hoped it was some other cool American, or maybe a Japanese boy? Then again, a girl would be even better! Someone hot to flirt with, ya know?

Finally the bell rang and Alfred was stuffing everything into his bag. The kids practically ran out to their waiting cars. The American boy ran over to Arthur, "Come on old man! We gotta get home! The other exchange student is coming, isn't she!" Oops.

"_She_?" the teacher raised one bushy eyebrow, "What were you thinking about this entire class period? Not anything I was _teaching_ I'm sure."

"S-sorry, got ahead of myself." Alfred wished he could shrink. That was embarrassing, but he was American, he's not supposed to be embarrassed. Okay, he needed to remember reality from fairyland.

Arthur patted his head, "Don't worry, the new student shouldn't be here until dinner; which gives you _plenty_ of time to do your _homework_."

Damn it.

* * *

It was raining. This city was such a dreary place. The temperatures were low, but it was okay. At least there wasn't much snow to be expected.

* * *

Alfred finished his homework in record time, much to Arthur's astonishment, which still left him time to jump off the walls in anticipation. Finally, just as Arthur set the table for three, the bell rang. Even before the teacher could look up, Alfred assured him he had the door. The Englishman scoffed; he knew the only thing Alfred hoped for was some Japanese girl to be waiting on the doorstep.

The American boy threw open the door, "Hello gorg- . . ."

At opening the door, he was met with a boy, slightly taller than himself with procaine blonde hair and violet eyes gazed down at him with a raised eyebrow. He wore a beige trench coat and combat boots. But what really stood out was the red scarf, decorated with gold embroidery at the ends. It was hand made, he could see the crocheted designs of the fabric and it looked really warm in contrast to the chilly, misty air.

"_Zdravstvujte_," the boy said hesitantly staring at the blonde. Being from where he had come, he could expect some sideways glares from everyone.

Alfred's eyes widened at the weird word. That was a word right? It wasn't, like, a sentence . . . It could have been . . . but it was something that didn't even sound _related_ to English. Maybe they didn't speak good English? But what the hell kind of language was _THAT_!

"Excuse me, you're standing in the _dveri_, _tovarishh_."

"I'm standing in the what-what?"

The boy's eyes hardened slightly in annoyance, "The _dveri_! Door! It is cold out _tovarishh_ and you're only in a shirt that is getting soaked from the mist." Something was strange about the blue eyed boy, something that sent his nerves on edge. Who was he?

The cold finally reached his body, "O-oh!" shivering, he moved out of the way. The boy stepped into the two story house and looked around the foray, finding the furnishings to be good. Carefully, he placed his suitcase down on the polished wooden floor before stepping out of his combat boots. He wasn't _that_ much taller. The one thing Alfred couldn't shake though; a strange vibe. Something in his sixth sense told him something wasn't right. He couldn't exactly place it, but the red scarf was _not_ sitting well.

Before he could say something, Arthur walked in, "Ah, it's good to finally meet you in person Ivan. Alfred, this is Ivan Braginski. Ivan, this blond git is my cousin and other exchange student: Alfred Jones."

"Alfred _Freedom_ Jones! Damn straight my bitches," Alfred flashed the rock on sign and strummed an air guitar. Ivan raised an eyebrow again. The boy sure was full of himself. But there was something . . . something that made Ivan want to beat him to death, other than his audacity and irksome antics. The same thing was for Alfred.

_If only he could place it._

* * *

"So, what music do you like?" Alfred finally managed an intelligent (somewhat) sentences through his mouth full of food. After forcing himself to gag the meal down his throat, Ivan adamantly protested against seconds. The other boy was on his fourth helping however. It made Ivan think he was British, but that was shoved into a back corner by his obvious lack of English accent. Actually, it was a strange sort of drawl that he had never heard before, and seeing as he had traveled through most, if not all, of Eastern Europe, that was very strange.

Ivan sipped the tea, which was the only edible thing on the table, "I am quite fond of Bulat Okudzhava."

". . . And that is?"

"Obviously you have no taste in music."

"Excuse me! I'll have you know tha-."

"Ivan, why don't you tell Alfred where you're from," Arthur cut in curtly before taking a sip from his own tea.

The violet eyes locked onto Alfred's blue ones seriously and they shown with great pride, "I am from the USSR! Leningrad as a matter of fact."

He bowed his head watching Alfred carefully.

The fork that was halfway to Alfred's mouth stood still, the food falling off and back onto the plate.

Silence and tension choked the air, mangling the life out of the atmosphere.

Alfred jumped to his feet, his fork his only weapon. He pointed it at the frozen heart of the other boy, glaring fiercely. A slight trickle of sweat slid down his neck, awaiting the other's move.

"Fucking Communist Bastard! I'll make sure you rot in hell!"


	2. The Fate of the Cold War

**A/N: Hahahahaha! Okay, that was a fail. XD I fixed the last sentence, but that was a winning fail. It totally was. I meant to say "I'll make sure you rot in hell" not "I'll make sure to rot in hell" Poor Alfred is probably stupid enough to say that though. XD Enjoy~**

* * *

Ivan raised an eyebrow at the fork, but the connection was made clear. Alfred was Capitalist. Such a poor, stupid boy. He sipped the tea once more, "Actually, the USSR is Socialist or did you forget that was why the government wouldn't buy your filthy imports before the second World War. But being Amerikan, you wouldn't know the difference."

Alfred stared, blinking confused. They were Socialist? But everyone said they were Commies . . . What is a Socialist by the way? Never mind! He was a RED (That was something not controversial . . . right?) and that was bad by itself! What was Socialism?

"It appears your cousin is much like the Chukchi," Ivan sighed, not worried about the idiot. He was probably trying to find his way back to reality without an actual path. When Alfred's mind began resuming conscious effort, he remembered he had a foot on the table and a fork aimed at the Soviet across the table.

His head snapped to Arthur, "Ship him back to his Commie-!"

_"Socialist!"_

"Commie. Socialist. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE ALL FUCKING BUNNIES WHO HAVE TAKEN OVER HUMANS! SEND HIM BACK!"

Arthur stood up and grabbed his cousin's ear; "Excuse us for a moment Ivan. I need a chat with Alfred." He dragged the American by his ear down the hall to the den, the younger whining all the while.

Once the pinching fingers removed themselves, he rubbed his ear and scowled, "What was that for!"

"Alfred, we are a prestigious family," Arthur started slow, "You are closely related to the President of the United States. I am your cousin and also related to the Queen of England. Now, you were brought here for a specific reason, as was he! He is related by marriage to the current leader of the Soviet Union."

". . . . WHAT! By marriage!"

Arthur buried his face in his palm, "As in his aunt is married to the current leader."

"Oh."

"We are diplomatic bargaining chips as of right now. Mostly you, I'm the referee. However your time with young Mr. Braginski goes is how the relations between America and the USSR will go. And if it is bad I cannot think of what may potentially happen. Also, I find it is only fair that someone is watching Ivan at ALL TIMES to make sure no one does anything to him," Arthur hissed.

"You . . . gotta be kidding. You mean the entire fate of the Cold War rests on my shoulders?"

"Those thin, inexperienced shoulders, yes. And you are at a major disadvantage. Ivan has been raised knowing every and all political science. Which is why he didn't jump at your throat. Your uncle has Secret Services and the Scotland Yard watching over the house. I can tell you, the Spetsnaz would have embedded a bullet into that gut of yours had you moved an inch forward and then a gun-fight would have aggressively ensued."

Alfred blinked, realizing just how close of a scrape from death he had been in, "I-I. Um . . . Wh-what should I say?"

"Right now, just be yourself and see what happens Alfie."

"I have a question . . ."

"Hm?"

"WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ABOUT THIS AND HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE NEEDS TO GO THROUGH THIS DIPLOMACY SHIT WHILE I GET LEFT TO FUCK UP!"

A giggle floated behind him, it sounded really childish. It wasn't all girly, but it sounded like little kids at the park. Which was creepy, coming from the person who attempted, and failed, to stifle the laughter bubbling up. The American turned slowly to see the boy hiding his smile under his red scarf, "I didn't think they would leave you to be so immature Alfred~. I've been trained for a meeting like this since I was twelve."

Alfred was 17.

"I hate you. Both of you." He headed to the stairs.

"Where are you going Alfred?" his British cousin called.

"To the attic. Maybe I can find some rope or something."

Ivan giggled again, but it sounded darker, "But _Comrade_, all you have to do is _ask~_!"

A finger flipped over his shoulder as he stalked angrily, and frustratedly, to his room to sulk and cuss out his Uncle. But priorities first: he had to write about, possibly, the most shit day he had lived through. But some little bug at the back of his mind told him, the worst was yet to arrive.


	3. School

Alfred sat in the car, pouting like a child. He had settled himself in the _far_ back because the Russki sat beside Arthur. Who knew the Brit was such a fucking pussy? He even treated the Commie-Socialist-Bunny with a degree of respect. Even Alfred wouldn't sink that low man! Even with all the guns of the USSR's Special Forces trained on him, ready to kill him at a . . . moment's . . . notice . . . Fuck his life.

* * *

Ivan looked out the window warily, his mouth set in a thin, grim line. He was in a Capitalist country, which meant they wouldn't treat him nicely. Still, he would not cower to their brutality. What neither of the Capitalists knew was that he had specifically told Spetsnaz to not fire by any means unless he was _dead_. They would, also, not interfere in any interactions between him and the civilians of the country. He would face it strong, and be the responsible one as often as need be.

* * *

Arthur glanced at the two worried. The aura in the vehicle was tense and near suffocating. He could tell by just the way they sat. Alfred was crossing his legs and held them tight to his body, in no way relaxed. Ivan sat in a more relaxed form, but he was ready for even the slightest of hostile movements to come. In a Not-Meant- to-be-Funny way, it was amusing. What Arthur worried more about were the other children. Especially those who had family in the Soviet occupied areas. Being an international school, the students had the option of wearing sleeve covers that were in the design of their home flag. Alfred hadn't worn his until this day, a wave of irrational jingoism hitting the boy. To counter the gesture, and against much well meaning opposition, Ivan wore his Soviet Union band. The crossed sickle and hammer under the gold-outlined star was sewn with gold laced thread that reflected the light when hit just right.

All the teacher could do was pray. He had no part in this minor war.

* * *

Alfred had many reasons to hate the Communist bastard. One, he was all anti-democracy and everything! Two, he was a villain from just being born in Russia! He must have been brainwashed since he was born! America _NEVER_ would do that to its young minds! And three, the Vietnam War. Rumors were that Russian Special Forces were out in North Vietnam training the Vietcong. True or not, he would hold the Soviet blame on this kid's head. Mostly because he was the only Soviet he could blame right now.

* * *

The car pulled into a parking space, and even before it came to a complete stop, Alfred was stalking away. Arthur was sure he went looking for his brother who had been staying the night at Gilbert's house. Their relationship was a suspicious one, but that wasn't anything he'd be a part of. Besides, Arthur had his own secrets, such as one involving a lewd French teacher during prep period. With a sigh he turned to the Russian who now looked a bit wary, but a determined fire still burned in his eyes.

"Ivan?"

"Da?" the boy asked, turning promptly to the inquiring voice.

"Will you be alright?"

"Da. Of course."

With that, the teenager stepped out of the car soundlessly, tossing an end of his vibrant scarlet scarf over his shoulder and striding onto campus.

* * *

The moment Ivan stepped into the courtyard, all went silent. Sure, there were Chinese, North and South Koreans, even Vietnamese students; but none from Russia. While the others were simply accepted as being there, Russia was the heart of all evil. Russia wasn't _'Just accepted'_, it was scorned. Even China didn't like the Northern Soviets, finding them Un-Communist. Hence the score board was _One_ verses _Everybody Else_. And the latter team was casting sideways glances at the new student. Ivan's heart pounded in his ears from anxiety, but he kept his composure. After he brief pause at the gate, he continued to march into the premises, despite the daggers being hurled by the other students.

* * *

Alfred found his brother with Gilbert. The albino was so narcissistic and loud, he and Alfred got along alright. And the German had a thing going with his brother, but Alfred didn't mind. He wasn't homo, but nor was he homophobe. The two weren't doing anything nasty yet, but he didn't really want to know when they _did_. And FINALLY the Canadian was coming home. So what if their mom was a border hopper? They were on a plane at the time, okay? There, explains everything! The American twin glomped his younger around the waist, being totally melodramatic while doing so. "Matti! The worst thing in the world has happened! You will never believe it in a million years!"

The quiet one jumped in surprise before looking over his shoulder to the sobbing American, "What happened Al? I thought you were excited to meet the new exchange student."

"BUT HE'S A _COMMIE_!"

"WHAT!" Gilbert gawked, hatred gleaming in his eyes. He had been one of the lucky few who got there asses out of East Germany when they had the chance. Still, he had family there, specifically his younger brother Ludwig and father Frederick. This inbred into him a deep, coursing hatred of the Russians. It suddenly dawned on Alfred that saying that was possibly the second worst thing in the world. And it possibly would be the cause of death of all three of them. Ivan by Gilbert, and Gilbert by Spazz-nazz (or whatever it was called), and Alfred after Gilbert for letting him kill the Russian . . . okay, let's face it. Ivan was an ambassador. Gawd damnit! That made it all legal and stuff so it underlined even more the importance of the ashen haired boy's life.

"Uh, hey, Gilbo. I-I think you shouldn't go all homicidal on his ass though," Alfred muttered, sort of vague.

"And why not!"

"Yes Alfred, why not? I believe it would be quite _zabavnye_."

Red eyes hardened to meet playful violet while blue and lavender eyes widened and glanced between each other.

The bell rang. None moved. Students on their way to class noticed the dead lock and drifted over, pulled by the tension mixing with their own hormonal discharges. A ring slowly gathered around the four, the twins slowly inching into the throng to appear as bystanders. It wasn't silent though. The two blondes had hoped the entire thing would blow over with a death threat from Gilbert, but he was easily encouraged. The other students around him goaded him on.

"Get that Commie bastard Gilbert!"

"Show that Soviet who's boss around here Beilschmidt!"

"Show that fucker the door man!"

"Make that Commie bitch run back to Russia with his tail between his legs!"

Gilbert smirked that devilish grin as he cracked his neck and dropped his backpack on the concrete. "You got it. This lil Commie's gonna be sorry he ever fucked with me." He made it as a promise.

Alfred prayed to god that nothing would happen . . . too badly. As much as he hated Ivan as well, he sorta, kinda, _needed_ the Red alive.

"And yet I was not the one who threatened bodily injury was I." It was a statement, not a question.

* * *

The bell rang and Gilbert lungerd.

* * *

**A/N: Yay, fight scene! I like fight scenes! Ivan, yes, how mature of you. Pick a fight with a whiney lil albino.**

**Gilbert: HEY**

**Sorry! Anyway, I'll be updating soon. Hope you enjoyed. This took awhile for me to figure what would be in it. Also, tell me what you want this to turn into. I had originally planned this to be a total hate-fest, but I guess the two of them could lapse into a love-hate situation, da? Tell me what you think. I have two endings planned, one for either way. Poka~!**


	4. Fail

Gilbert jumped at the much taller student. Alfred had a mixed feeling of covering eyes so the gore-fest wouldn't haunt his dreams for the next few years, or watch and laugh. While everyone cheered the most fearsome student in the school on (for once), Ivan watched carefully. It was really odd that Alfred suddenly became hyper sensitive to his surroundings. He saw the subtle change of color in the Soviet's eyes and the childish gleam be replaced with something a little more disturbing. Gilbert pulled back his arm and swung. Though it happened so fast, it was as though Alfred was going at super speed. He could make out every single little point. And still he didn't see what would happen next.

Just as Gilbert's right hand came within an inch of Ivan's face, the other grasped his arm and twisted it to the right and flipped his entire body. All from his arm! He fell against the ground and the ring of students went silent. The Russian hadn't hurt him physically, which was perhaps the worst thing he could have done. With blood, one could gloat that the brawl was so wild they even hurt themselves, or intimidated his opponent into such frenzy as that he never had the chance to land a good one. With a simple twist that left him on the ground, not even a bruise forming, it was _HUMILIATING_! He felt like a baby, handled with such expert care, and it pissed him off.

He jumped to his feet, a different stance now, his arms out to either side as though he was going to wrestle Ivan to the ground. The said Russian cocked his head to the left, eyeing the other in amused curiosity before pulling his right leg back and standing his total height. Alfred hadn't thought the other was slouching this whole time! He was _HUGE_! A good three inches over six feet and with an added half inch from his combat boots . . . it was a very intimidating display to say the least. The childish smile went from being annoying to _scary_. The change in Gilbert's eyes told the American that he was starting to rethink the entire situation.

"You don't scare me you Commie!" he growled and charged, going to tackle the ashen haired boy who dodged with a single step to the left. By now, a few teachers had come to figure out what was going on only to stop dead and watch with the kids. Patriotism seemed to have a strong hold on the entire staff.

As the two danced and the crowd grew restless, Matthew looked to his older brother worried, "Alfred! This is your fault! Fix it! Do something!"

"Ah . . . well . . . I know what you're saying, but you gotta understand Mattie! He's _Communist_," he stressed. When he was met with an annoyed glare he tried to think of a better way to put it, "It would be . . . like going to Russia, signing up for their army, and going to Vietnam and shooting out the American Heroes! You just don't do that!" Still the eyes . . . and was his eyebrow twitching?

"Alfred, I am NOT letting my _friend_ get killed because it is the American Hero thing to do to just sit by and watch."

The older winced, "Ouch! You know that's not what I meant at all! Sheesh. And if you want someone to intervene, why don't you do it?"

Matthew looked up to see Gilbert swing, his arm captured again, but this time he was thrown over the Russian's should and landed hard against the tile floor, the wind knocked out of him, but nothing more; even though the tall boy didn't seem interested in attacking an opponent while they were down, but he walked circles around him, swift and mocking. Gilbert lay still, trying to get his breath back but then saw a little glimmer of hope. The Prussian grabbed Ivan's right ankle and jerked it out from under him. With a cry of surprise, the giant tumbled to the ground and Gilbert jumped on him, starting with a sharp knee in the stomach. Violet eyes closed in pain and Gilbert began laying blows on his chest and face. Maybe the idiot would be okay. And at this time, even Alfred was cheering the albino on.

The match looked won. Ivan was on the ground, making attempts to keep the flailing hands from his face. His bottom lip had split from a good punch and blood colored the tender skin. Finally, he had had enough. He grabbed Gilbert's shoulders and wedged a foot under his stomach, kicking him over his body. He landed with a thud and an _'Oompff'_ on his stomach. Before he could pick himself back up, a stab of pressure shot through his back and pressed him once more to the ground. He attempted to flail, but stopped when it only cause searing agony to co through his entire right side.

Ivan wedged his elbow into the smaller's back, just to the right of his spinal column. It pressed down on the major nerve that led to his right arm and controlled bodily functions and sensory. "If you want me to sever the nerve completely, just keep moving. But you would lose complete mobility of your arm for the rest of your life. That would be disappointing, _da_?" he asked simply. It gave a feel of mocking superiority.

Gilbert opened his mouth to say something when Matthew jumped out of the ring of onlookers who had once more grown deathly silent, "You won. Please let him go, he's just an obnoxious teenager. It's nothing against you personally."

"Matthew!" Gilbert whined but was silenced by a slight increase in pressure against his back in warning.

Ivan smiled sweetly and stood up, "As you wish, since you are so polite. Matvey is it? I won't forget your manners." And with that he walked away. People rushed and tripped over each other to move out of his way, even teachers.

Matthew helped his lover up, "You're such an idiot Gil. Ya know that?"

* * *

Alfred sat in Arthur's classroom during lunch to stay out of the cafeteria. He really didn't want to hear anything from his twin brother, but then he suddenly recalled he had never had the time to bitch out his uncle yet! He needed to do that. Looking to the desk, there was the telephone. Arthur wasn't there, so this'll be kinda private. He made his way down the aisle and took up the phone, dialing his Uncle's private number.

"_Hello?"_ he picked up the telephone.

"Hey, Uncle _Dick_," he stressed the name, "I never got to call you about a little issue that has wormed its way into my peaceful life."

"_Alfred. Arthur already told me you took his pistol from his safe and slept with it under your pillow. I _told_ you what was going to happen."_

What?

" . . . . No you didn't . . ."

* * *

_Alfred sat In front of the television and munched on some chips with a phone to his ear. He wasn't listening to the words pouring from the other end that his uncle liked to use. They were all big and diplomatic. That's what you get with a politician for an uncle. He assured with an _'Mhmm'_ and _'yeah'_ when needed and appropriate._

"The nephew of the current leader of the USSR is coming to live with you and Mattie for a little while. He is coming to see if the United States truly is a worthy country to gain diplomatic relations with and you are going to be the first Westerner he has ever met. I want you to make a good, and I repeat _GOOD_ impression on him so that he can take it back to his country and hopefully negotiations will begin. The Cold War has gone on long enough and the nation wants to bring it to a close. In order to do that, the country is looking to you. You want to be a hero so bad Alfred, this is your chance. Understood?"

"_Aye-aye Uncle Richard! I'll do everything in my power!"_

"Good. I have to go now. You got _everything_ I said, right?"

"_Totally. Peace Uncle Dick." He hung up the phone and finished his movie then it suddenly dawned on him . . . what had his Uncle told him about? Oh whatever. He'd know when it came._

* * *

"Oh shit . . ."

* * *

**A/N: I'm going to leave it there. Hope this was a bunch of giggles for you. Review. I feel a little hurt that this is so popular and only 3-4 chapters while my other currently-worked story isn't and has 7 chapters! *pouts* Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Peace! This is NOT meant to be historically accurate by any means. I hope you would have figured that out by now . . . ^^;**


	5. Attempt

Ivan sat alone on the roof of the school to eat his lunch, shying away from the antagonistic looks and remarks. In his first few class periods, nothing went right. If his first class, science, he was glared at by the students. They had to do a lab the used different chemicals; a simple experiment to test if they were acidic or basic. One student, he had shoulder length blonde hair and green eyes and spoke in a strange girly-accent, falsely tripped over his feet spilled vinegar all over the Russian. As infuriating as it was, and the intense urge to snap the – polish boy, right? – in half, he had to wash out his scarf. It had been a parting present from his sister, since he would be staying with Alfred for a total of, three years, the final year being spent in the American's country. But he was strong; he'd be able to beat the Capitalists' willpower! He was Soviet damn it!

Still, he felt his bottom lip quiver as he put down his food. He wanted to go home, where no one treated him badly and hurt him like this. He had his family, his circle of friends. He wasn't wanted here, but he knew that before he came. And yet he couldn't keep the tears from filling his eyes. Slowly, he brought his knees to his chest and buried his face into them. Who was he kidding? No one wanted him anyway. Everyone was watching as the USSR teetered on the edge of oblivion. He had known this since he started his training. Things weren't going well governmentally with all the revolts happening in the satellite countries, no one wanted to join them in their ideals. And America treated it like a crime to spread ideology. Yet America was tooting its own horn by declaring Democracy. Hypocritical bastard.

He rocked himself gently as the tears dissipated without leaving his eyes. He was born to be strong, taught to be stronger, trained to surpass all. He would not let the Motherland down. This was his mission. Establish good connections with America and bring an end to the Cold War in each major country. Sometimes he wondered if this was a job too big, even for someone as strong as him. He wasn't his country after all.

* * *

"Hey Alfred, where were ya during lunch?" Gilbert asked nonchalantly as they met up with the older twin in the halls. The bell signaling the end of lunch had rung and they were on their way to class.

The American rubbed the back of his head, "I called Uncle Dick about the situation . . ."

"_And?_" Matthew pressed, an eyebrow raised.

"It, um, seems that I got the assignment last moth and . . . wasn't . . . paying . . . attention?" his voice got smaller as Matthew seemed to get bigger. Ookay, his brother was mad.

"You dolt! You could have told us what was going to happen! Not only did you allow Gilbert to get his ass handed to him-"

"Ow," the albino winced.

The Canadian continued his rant, "-You now left the entire school unaware! Because of you, the relations between America and the USSR might get even worse! Ever heard of the nuclear holocaust Alfred? You may be the one causing it!"

Alfred's blue eyes got wide and watery as he felt the weight of the statement push down. He started hyperventilating and tears gathered at the courners of his eyes. He sniffled as his bottom lip started quivering and Matthew let his anger go in a breath. He wrapped an arm around the American slowly, "Hey, Alfie, it's okay."

"I'M GONNA DESTROY THE WORLD!" He began sobbing like a child in his hands. No one walking by took notice since this _was_ Alfred going through a mental breakdown, but what else was new?

Mattie sighed again. Yes, what else was new?

* * *

The final period of the day was quickly getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller. Every time a student harassed Ivan, they were sent directly to the Principal's office. Now there were only six of them left from the total twenty-eight: Mattie, Gilbert, Alfred, Ivan, Antonio the laidback Spaniard, and Feliciano the crybaby Italian. Antonio was too nice to everyone that he didn't react violently when the Russian walked into the room a little late. Feli was the same for the most part, but he was a little afraid of Ivan as well.

Arthur sighed and placed his book, closed, on his desk. "Since more than half of you bloody gits are gone, I can't really teach only six children, can I? You can work on other things until the bell. I don't mind if you talk, but absolutely _NO_ derogatory statements shall be made and if I sense a fight brimming, you will join the line of gits leading to the principal's office. Understood?"

A chorus of _'yeses'_ followed his statement in different languages. With a breath, Mr. Kirkland sat in his chair and began reading a different book in a strange language that none of the students knew.

Alfred sat two seats from Ivan, and though he tried ignoring the little voice that told him to take responsibility . . . but it wasn't his idea!

'_Ever heard of the nuclear holocaust Alfred?'_ Mattie's voice rang in his head.

A mental image of the world being blown to bits by the combined efforts of America and the USSR flashed through his thoughts. Now he really couldn't concentrate on his homework. He refused to go over to the Russian and be all _"Hey, let's be friends to save the world!"_ only because Russian's couldn't be heroes. Still, maybe if they weren't villains he could keep the world from blowing up on him. The thought wasn't appealing, but the two didn't need to be friends, or even friendly, just not pricks to each other.

Alfred suddenly felt a pen hit him in the forehead. He looked around to see who had thrown it when he noticed the surprised look on Ivan's face. He looked really childish with his violet eyes so big and full of emotion. Obviously he didn't mean to throw the pencil, as seen by the tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. Alfred smirked to himself slightly before raising the pencil.

"Catch," he tossed the utensil to the owner.

Ivan caught it easily in his gloved hands, "_Spasibo_, thanks."

"Welcome."

Matthew smirked to himself as he worked on his history. The first civilized remarks th two made to each other all day. Apparently the _'Tough-love'_ therapy after lunch had helped. Hopefully it would stick.

* * *

**A/N: Not a long Chapie at all. Hope you like. Review for me~! I'll be working more on it tomorrow.**


	6. Burns

Ivan was in the kitchen cooking for all of them. Yes, Ivan. And despite his brother's words, Alfred couldn't help but _not_ trust the Commie. Like he said before, they didn't need to be friendly, just not assholes. But the hidden knife in his sleeve was just a precaution in case the Russian bear did attempt something. A good stab in the back probably wouldn't kill his demon heart, but it would teach him a lesson . . . right? Did they feel pain? Come to think of it, he had read in one of the newspapers from the US where they told this totally believable story of how the Russians were testing on their young men and making them impervious to pain. They'd bleed and everything, but they don't notice the pain, they don't feel it. It was because they burned the nerve endings or something. And this aspect was now making him curious.

Alfred inched closer to see Ivan's cooking. He was chopping vegetables carefully, but he looked as though he didn't seem used to using the kitchen. At least it looked edible. Then he noticed the other's slender, white hands. It surprised him slightly, but it was not the sheer pallor of his skin, as he had never seen those hands before; those dark gloves had covered them at every hour of the day, much like how that scarf never came off those shoulders. But again, even the sight of them wasn't what made him stare longer; it was the strange scars the patterned across the other's flesh. They looked leathery and without structure, but painful nonetheless.

Violet eyes flashed to the American and, startled by their proximity, Ivan exclaimed in surprise and fumbled the knife. It split his left middle finger open, blood trickling freely from the wound, but the Russian didn't cry out. Said Russian attempted to hide his hands in his sleeves, noticed the crimson liquid and held the cut to stem the bleeding. Violet and blue watched each other for a moment longer. Alfred blinked confused while Ivan appeared self-conscious and glanced down at his bleeding fingers.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Arthur exclaimed, running in to make sure neither were hurt. At that moment, the Russian boy took the interruption as a signal to run out of the room. The Englishman blinked, was Ivan . . . _blushing_ just then? He looked at Alfred who looked stunned, "What did you do now you git?"

"His hands," the high schooler muttered, "His hands are scarred."

* * *

Ivan ran to the restroom to wash out the cut. The last thing he wanted was for the cut to get infected. He was sure it would have hurt like shit since he had been cutting onions before Alfred had startled him, but he couldn't feel a thing. Not heat or pain, only pressure. And he would never feel so intimately again. He felt the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He hated thinking about it. He hated it more than anything. It made him itch all over. He had even begun scratching at the scarred flesh. He couldn't feel pain, so couldn't alleviate the annoyance. Not only that, but now his neck was acting up. He went to scratch it, but was met with the cloth of his red scarf. Frantic, he dug under the folds and began scratching, but nothing made it stop, nothing could.

The itch wasn't pleasant, nor one he could simply ignore if he thought of something else. It felt like bugs crawling under his skin, driving him mad unless something stopped it. It kept growing; he tore the scarf away, his neck scarred as his hands as he scratched harder, his nails digging into the soft flesh, but he could feel nothing other than the indent. Then he could feel the itching-burning sensation all over his body. He shed his clothes, attempting to end the torment.

He could see the fire, but couldn't feel it. He screamed, not from pain, but fright. By all means, he should have been in complete agony, but he wasn't. He heard other screams before the red turned to black.

He dragged himself to the shower and turned on the water at the highest setting, the water pounding with the harsh pressure against his body, the only thing that stopped the burning. He opened his eyes to view the clear water, but it wasn't clear. The flowing streams were red, mocking as they created tiny whirlpools around the drain. He looked at his hands, his fingers ensanguine with his own blood. Still, the main contributor was the constant downpour from his neck. He swore in Russian as he grabbed a washcloth, he hadn't told Arthur about his condition like his sister had demanded. Since he had arrived, he hadn't taken off the gloves, not even to trim the nails. But he couldn't even do that himself incase he cut them too low and gained an infection from cutting open the nail bed. He was a leper, trying his hardest to keep his body in one piece as he went about his life as though nothing was wrong.

* * *

Alfred tried to understand what was the matter with the other boy. He hadn't seemed really angry by the American's invasion of space, but he appeared more embarrassed by his skin. He hadn't noticed the cut until he glanced down, and a faint tinge of pink lightened up his pale features. He went to go see Ivan, but heard the shower running. Ivan didn't take showers at this time; he usually did in the early morning before the others were up. The only way he knew this was because of the lack of towels that had been there previously and the dampness of his hair.

"Ivan? Are you okay?"

"_Go away,"_ a small voice called back over the roar of the shower.

He licked his lips, "I didn't mean to startle you, or upset you or anything." He paused, "Are you punishing me by using all the hot water?"

Silence.

"Ivan?"

Once more he received no response. He tried the handle, finding it locked, and fumbled the knob loudly.

"_Out!"_ a shout finally responded, _"I don't want to deal with you right now."_

"Just tell me if I did something wrong," he pleaded earnestly, starting to become worried.

There was a pregnant silence, _"Nyet. _You_ didn't do anything."_

Alfred felt a little relieved, but now he was even more confused, "If I didn't do anything, why won't you let me in?"

"_Please . . . just go,"_ he called, if that since it was almost muted by the waterfall. The blonde was beginning to get worried. The other sounded like he was fading away, like the water melted him and the drain was sucking him down. His leg began tapping impatiently as he counted to ten, still, his overactive imagination waging war against his reasonable, logical side.

He tried the doorknob again, but this time no protest was emanating from the one within. "Ivan!" he called, fear coloring his voice, still no response. Hero instincts kicking in, he raised his foot and pounded on the door mercilessly before the hinges gave way.

Arthur ran to the hall, "Alfred! What the bloody hell do you think you are doing!" But the teen ignored him and ran into the bathroom.

Alfred pulled back the curtain to see Ivan lying on the bathtub floor, barely conscious, a crimson washcloth pressed against his neck. He could see the pale, scarred flesh of his hands that extended up his arms, over his shoulders, neck, chest, back, and legs. The skin looked mangled and poorly reconstructed. Arthur was just as shocked as his cousin, but what worried him most was the constant flow of blood from the Russian's neck.

"Alfred, go get a towel, we need to go now!"

* * *

**A/N: Love me, I have been busy and bogged down with this due to all the research I've been doing on burn injuries and nerve damage. So, yeah, LOVE ME!**

**If anything is off, please tell me. My anatomy techer and all the sites I looked up said nerves don't grow back . . . damn that sucks. REVIEW FOR ME MY DARLINGS!  
**


	7. Delicious Thoughts

_Everything was on fire when he opened his eyes. At first it was heat, then it slowly became uncomfortably hot, finally searing. The agony washed through his body, tearing his from his dreams to find his blankets orange with the flames. They burned his back as he lay on his stomach, eating through his pajamas and making their way up his legs and around his shoulders._

_He screamed from the pain and fell from his bed, attempting to pull off his clothing to stop the burning. It hurt so badly, and then, after a few seconds, he felt itching across his body where the orange licked at his skin, then nothing. He stopped screaming, not knowing the fire still burned. He lay still, not feeling the flames other than the uncomfortable burn on his chest from the surrounding heat. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. He let his violet eyes droop, becoming fatigued from his scare. He never heard his sister's cry of alarm as she doused his limp body. He didn't even wake up.

* * *

_

His eyes fluttered open and he saw the white of a hospital room. He groaned slightly, he never liked hospitals. The staff was pushy and the drugs made him nervous since he couldn't feel inside of out, which was exactly how he felt right now. He groaned louder and tried to turn his head, but something around his neck stopped him.

"Finally you're awake!" a familiar voice exclaimed a little too loud. He winced before using his eyes to look in the direction the voice came from. There sat Alfred, looking a little relieved and quite tired. "You scared the shit out of us you bastard!"

Ivan smirked slightly, "That was not my intention Comrade."

"Yeah, well, don't do that again . . . It was awkward with you being naked and stuff," the American rubbed the back of his head, "And you know . . . you could have told us about . . . you know . . . your . . . condition."

"I didn't wish to involve you in something you knew nothing about."

"You should have told us, or at least Arthur."

"I cannot trust that you will not seek to use such a weakness against me."

Blue eyes met violet in a flash of offense, "Isn't that why you're here? Isn't that why I'm here? So we can learn to trust each other? Why do I feel like I am the only one making an extraordinary effort to patch things up! I don't trust you any more than I can throw you, and that's saying something, but we have to start brand new. We seriously need to get past the flags or we won't get anywhere and our mission will be written down in the history books as the greatest failure of international relations . . . and-there-might-be-a-giant-nuclear-holocaust-and-the-entire-world-will-explode-because-we-can't-get-along-like-good-little-children!"

Ivan blinked at how fast the American could speak, "I shall pretend I understand what you just said, but I do agree with the latter half. But _you_ are not the only one making an effort; I'm just being reserved. Trust doesn't just birth into being as full grown, it needs to grow and be nurtured as a babe."

"That . . . is a weird way of saying it . . . but okay. I get you, but let's at least try from a neutral standing," he couldn't believe he'd be saying this, "Let's forget about . . . our countries for a moment. If I wasn't an American, wouldn't you trust me better?"

"_Nyet_."

"WHAT!"

Ivan giggled, "Many countries are against us. If you were English, French, or even Chinese, we wouldn't be in any different of a situation. If you were Vietnamese or Korean, we'd be wary of each other. If you were Hungarian or German, you'd hate me with a passion and I would whisper death threats upon you every minute of the hour though I would not go against you outright."

"Wow," Alfred frowned, "The world hates you."

"Pretty much."

"Okay, so . . . what if I had no nationality. What if I was without people, without government, without a flag. How about then?"

"I would be wondering what planet you came from."

"Okay, seriously. And the Roswell Incident _WAS_ true! But besides that, would we be set into equal ground?"

The Russian pondered for a moment, "I guess. Yes, we would."

"And to make it fair, you have no country either. We are just two kids, okay? We just need to get along, any way possible."

* * *

Alfred left the room and sighed, slamming the heel of his hand against his forehead. He had just sworn to a _Communist_ that he would cast off his nation just to make this little experiment work. Yeah, he felt bad that Ivan couldn't trust him with his _"secret"_ and it almost got him killed. But he couldn't feel _that_ bad, right.

His cheeks flushed red as he recalled the look of submission on the Russian's face as he lay under the constant fall of the shower. He was so vulnerable and weak. He had only released a soft moan when Alfred had touched his exposed body. The scars didn't make his body deformed, actually, it made him _human_, real, and it didn't deviate from the beauty of his form.

Oh bloody hell, now he was thinking about the most hideous thing of life. He wasn't a faggot, he wasn't a Red, and he wasn't that person! It wasn't a moan, oh god, it wasn't a moan! He groaned! Groaned in pain, not in pleasure. He wretched himself away from the thoughts to find himself flushed in the face. Embarrassment, arousal, and anger colored his face. It was that Communist's fault!

But the thoughts had such a delicious taste.

* * *

**A/N: So, yay, Alfred, you're gay, deal with it. XD I always see fanfictions where Ivan feels for Alfred first. This is my little experiment of having Alfred love-hate first. Ivan isn't thinking about such . . .naughty thoughts . . . YET~! XD ^^**


	8. Final Project

"I still hate that bastard," Gilbert grumbled darkly as he bit deep into his sandwich. They sat across the dining hall from Ivan as he shared a table with only himself. He didn't have the brace on anymore; he had refused to enter public with such a thing around his neck. Now he wore a bandage over the stitches while he hid that with his lovely scarf. Alfred hadn't seen his hands again, and everything went back to normal pretty much, other than for the fact that Arthur babied the Russian over every little thing. It actually made Alfred a little jealous, but he couldn't help but smile at how Ivan whined like a seven year old, insisting he didn't need help.

"Give him a break," Matthew sighed, "He's not that bad actually. And he isn't some demon, just a big, misunderstood guy."

"He's not _big_," Alfred, corrected, "he just bundles up. He's rather small actually."

"What are you talking about?" Gilbert laughed insanely, causing the American to turn a bright red before throwing an empty juice carton at the albino.

"Screw you!"

"Don't worry, we know who you wanna screw."

"Oh my god! Shut the hell up! Mattie! Shut up your bf or I'm cutting out his tongue!"

"With what? Your spork?" the other asked nonchalantly.

". . . I hate the both of you."

* * *

The world history teacher was some Greek guy who fell asleep spontaneously in class; it was some sort of condition called narcolepsy or something. The guy would randomly fall asleep in the middle of lecture, and then this sort of alarm went off to any and all stray cats in the area that went through hell and high water to get into that classroom. It was the freakiest thing ever, but cool all the same. As it was the teacher had just sat down to explain the sheets he had passed out when his condition struck and he was off in la-la-land with his head planted on the desk.

"Great," Alfred muttered coldly. The other students were now opening windows and vents as cats poured in by the dozens. This sucked! Alfred was allergic to outdoor animals due to the dandruff and dirt in their coats. Especially cats . . . especially wild cats that spent their lives in dirt. He began sneezing loudly, damn his life with a creepy, catcalling teacher!

"Alfred?" a cute (no, NOT CUTE! NOT CUTE!) voice asked innocently from above him, "are you alright? Your eyes are red."

"Yeah, allergies." Ivan's head tilted to the side in confusion, "You don't know allergies?"

"I have never heard the term."

"I can't be around dirty animals or I-I s-start sn-ee-zzz-ing!" He sneezed again, his eyes feeling itchy and irritated.

"So it's the cats?"

"Yeah." He suddenly felt arms wrap around his shoulders and his cheeks turned red.

_"Bednye mladenca,"_ (Poor baby) he muttered in his soft, sexy mother tongue. FUCK IT ALL! Why was another guy turning him on just because he spoke another language, even if it was a slick, sweet language on his tongue?

"Uh . . . thanks?"

At that moment, the teacher woke up. "What are all these cats doing in here? I can't even find my students," he spoke as though he didn't really want to see his students and liked the cats so much more.

"They all crawled in while you slept!" a small, Asian girl called. Such as the informer went. Meimei was annoying sometimes with how obvious she could be.

"Well, class is almost over," the Greek man assured himself looking at his watch, a cat laying on his head unnoticed, "I'll go over the project quickly however. This will affect your grade as an overall. If you fail this, you'll fail the semester. I was told to do this, so don't whine at me. Obviously, if I don't have enough tests throughout the semester, your final is going to be a killer. However, I don't want to be the bad guy, so you all will work with a partner on a country I will assign you to. So these are the groups:

"Gilbert and Matthew, Germany. Feliciano and Kiku, Japan. Antonio and-."

Alfred toned the list out as he blew his nose with the tissues, a cat sitting by idly, as though tauntingly. Alfred scowled at the cat and hissed under his breath, but the cat started purring.

"Ivan and Alfred, Russia/USSR."

The American froze. He'd have to look into the history of the Communist stronghold! Oh . . . fuck!

* * *

**A/N: I'm having some Writer's Block on this story, but this new story is so mean and prevailing my thoughts! Grrr! Give me a minimum of chapters you want before the moth is over and I'll get them up as best I can, but please don't make it over ten T.T That way I can get this other plot bunny out of its cage. Hope you enjoyed~!**


	9. Lover's Spat

Ivan sighed in annoyance for the umpteenth time as the American whined incessantly over their project, "Alfred, could we please get started? We only have three weeks, and then we have to go to the states." He was met with another loud groan and the pattern started again. However, Ivan was losing his patience, faster than he'd show. After another ten minutes of incoherent English muttering, the Russian had honestly had enough. He stood up stiffly and left the room.

Alfred finally sat up as he glared in the general direction the other had gone, _'YOU sabotaged the project, didn't you!'_ he thought angrily. He slammed his head back down on the table, utterly content to just lay there and totally forget about any proj—

"Alfred Felix Jones! Stop you blathering and work with Ivan on your bloody project!" his cousin's voice screeched, "From what I heard from Hera- Mr. Karpusi, you aren't going to pass his class with a mere thirty-eight percent! Either you do your project or you'll make Ivan fail too!"

Alfred's head shot up with a brilliant flush on his face, "Don't use my middle name when _HE'S_ around! And second, _WHY MUST IT BE SOVIET!_"

"That's because I told Mr. Karpusi about our situation and he agreed to try and better it," Ivan explained happily, "We agreed the best way to better the situation is to school your horribly narrow American mind in the history of Russia."

"USSR," Alfred countered. Like hell that country had another name.

"Russia."

"Soviet Union."

"Motherland."

"Ice-Box."

"Land of the Russ!"

"Commie Winter Wonderland!"

"ENOUGH!" Arthur shouted again, pushing the two taller males away from each other. They hadn't even realized how close they had gotten to each other's face. Arthur wasn't really worried about them fighting however. The look in their eyes was a giant red flag. He had seen that look many times before, even shared it himself: the look of sexual tension spilling over. And like fucking hell he would let those two shag on his dinner table! He ate on that!

"Okay," the Englishman sighed, running a nervous hand in his hair, "You both will work together on this assignment. Come to an agreeable approach and get a bloody A so you can get your bloody arses on a bloody plane to America and I am left in peace!" With that, he stormed out with a huff.

They looked at the door where the elder had gone, then each other. With a huff they turned away.

* * *

Ivan sat in his room thinking to their argument. Such a silly argument, Alfred really didn't have a right to say anything! He didn't know how beautiful Russian history was, how tragic and heart throbbing it truly was. The colorful culture and the beautiful summer and the greatest buildings the world had ever seen within the Kremlin walls. The Russian sighed with homesickness. He missed his motherland very much, and his sisters who were still there, waiting for him. Okay, he missed one. The other was scarier as _shit_!

Still, he loved being with Alfred, though he was . . . _difficult_, but that wasn't even the half of it. And the boy was by far a flibbertigibbet with a haughty attitude. Still, he was absolutely adora- . . . _fuck_. Why was he thinking like that? His violet eyes blinked in confusion as he suddenly flushed a light shade of red. He _did_ like the America, that he would admit, and the blond was very cute, but why was he having images of being . . . intimate with . . . . He sighed. And he was American, of all people, an American; even worse, a boy. But now Ivan was curious. How would it feel to kiss those lush lips and savor the taste of the smaller's open mouth . . .

He face-palmed. This was going to be a problem.

* * *

**A/N: Haha, yes, I gave Alfred a not-so-random middle name. There is a meaning to why I chose Felix~! I picked it because it means Lucky/Successful. And isn't that all that America is? We were luck to win the Revolutionary war, and successful in pulling off a united country as big as we are. So, yay! And Now Ivan is having dirty thoughts. It is just a matter of time now folks~! XD**

**I'm banned from computers so . . . yeah . . . my mom and I had a really big fight and I can only work at school now . The chapters will be short, but updated asap. And to my reviewer "Hi" XD I'll write six, thet'll equal two normal chapters XD.  
**


	10. Memories

Alfred looked at the giant book that Ivan had set on the dinner table. It was a dark brown leather with aging spots on the covers. Inscribed in gold threading was some Russian word that he couldn't read and wouldn't even bother. He pointed to the inscription, "Translate Snowman."

"_Vospominanija_. Memories."

Alfred blinked, "Why the fuck is your language so retarded!"

"My language is _not_ retarded you simpleton! It is beautiful and elegant and by far much older than your own," Ivan snapped. No matter how much he liked the obnoxious blonde, the way he degraded his culture, language, and people was, in a word, infuriating.

"Whatever. So what is it?"

"Open it and find out _moj ljubimyj durachok_."

Blue eyes regarded the other suspiciously. What, did the Communists figure out how to have a gun pop out of a book, or maybe it would spray him with acid, or even-. Okay, stop. They had made an agreement. No countries. So damn hard when that was what they were working on! Damned Ivan being manipulative! He should have been studying _AMERICA_! The Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, and the best country in the entire fucking world! Democracy for the win!

"Any day now Alfred," Ivan sighed, waiting for the other to stop making weird faces in conjunction with whatever his menial little mind was conjuring.

"Oh, yeah." He grasped the cover tentatively, glancing at Ivan to see if things were on the up-and-up before flinging it back and cowering for s few seconds. When he heard nothing, he was sure he was dead. Damn Commie basted had killed him, how? Fuck if he knew! But when that Commie came into the after life, by gum he'd give him a piece of hi-.

"Alfred?"

Were they both dead?

"Stop looking like an idiot and look through the damn book!"

Oh . . . well now he felt stupid. Alfred straightened himself up and cleared his throat, "Just . . . testing you."

"Right." He motioned with his eyes to the paper and the American forced his attention back to the book. It was a photo album, which surprised him greatly.

"How-?"

"I called my sister and she sent it through hell and high water to get it through security."

"You have a sister, huh?" he looked at the first few pictures and sure enough, there was one who looked older than Ivan who wore a beige scarf and a sky blue dress with long sleeves that stylishly puffed at the shoulders and boots that reached up to her knees. She looked about thirteen or so and in the background was another girl who looked four with a grey jacket with a fur collar with the same boots and a black frilled dress that looked a lot like a maid's outfit. They all had Ivan's hair, but the girls had blue eyes instead of that alluring violet. Though they were as limpid as their brothers, it wasn't the same. And as Alfred studied the picture further, he saw Ivan far into the background, no smile on his face and no scarf upon his shoulders. He dressed simply in a jacket, dress shirt, and a pair of snow pants. His violet eyes looked calm, reserved; but open and caring. Yet he seemed to regard the one taking the picture with a cold feeling. The Russian boy looked to be six, making the year . . . wait, how old was Ivan. They were the same age . . . no, same year. Ivan's birthday was December thirtieth while Alfred's was July fourth (All American bitches!) But that would make them both seventeen now. Great! So that was 1963 in the picture. That was so long ago.

"Which sister sent it?" Alfred asked, eyeing the two of them under the plastic covering.

"Yekaterina," he pointed to the centerpiece of the picture: the beautiful thirteen-year-old, "Natalya would have mailed herself if she could." The American did not miss the shiver that ran down the other's spine.

"She's pretty. They both are."

Ivan was ashamed at the fact that he felt jealous of his sisters. "_Da_, they are," he stammered out, looking away sheepishly, "Do you mind one moment, her letter said she took a recent picture so I wouldn't forget them."

Alfred pulled back as the Russian flipped to the very end on the book where said picture was. Two girls stood in the center of the picture looking pretty close to as they did in the last. However, Yekaterina now had huge (and damn it, when he says huge, he means FUCKING HUGE!) ta-tas. Natalya looked even scarier than before, her blue eyes glaring at the camera while she almost looked innocent in her maid's outfit and apron. Yekaterina looked nervous, almost in tears as she smiled brightly, not angry with the cameraman, but worried all the same.

Ivan slowly pulled the picture from the sleeve and turned it over.

Good luck Ivan, we are always thinking of you. Love Natasha & Katyusha

"They really care about you," Alfred stated quietly. He could never imagine his life without Mattie. Matthew had always, _always_ been there for him; thick and thin, elementary to high school. What would it be like to go into a hostile situation . . . alone? He felt his stomach churn and he suddenly felt remorse for being a total ass. Communist or not, everyone had a family.

"Will they come to graduation?"

"_Nyet_. They would not be welcome."

Alfred froze and felt the air around him drop. The biggest event in Ivan's life, graduation, was going to be completely skipped because he was Soviet! And all because of this stupid war with Vietnam? And word was reaching that the civilians wanted the soldiers _out_. But Communism was what was tearing Ivan's family apart! Suddenly it clicked. Not Communism. Not Communism at all. The idea of it, though something Alfred still saw as evil, wasn't what pulled the other from his family. It was America, and in the end, him. Democracy was breaking up people? Families? It was unfathomable. That wasn't what he wanted to fight for. Not something that would separate brothers and sisters, or mothers from children.

He didn't know what he was doing here anymore. He was here because of some government back at home that had inculcated into his mind since birth that Communism was evil. Russians were Soviet spawns of Stalin and Satan and they were far from human. But they were human, and they had mothers, and fathers, and sisters . . . and, if he's any proof, friends. Instead of looking at society as Capitalist and Communist, what about America and the USSR, or even Russia as the other demanded upon calling it. Americans _could_ get along with Russians. Both governments just needed to take a break or something. This _could_ work.

'_This will work.'_

* * *

**A/N: Okay, longest Chappie for the longest time. I hope this is okay~ ^^ Btw, I have a poll on my profile. SO VOTE! XD If you don't, I'll randomly choose one. But ya'll got your chance. ^^ Peace out!**


	11. Scarlet Square

**A/N: OMG! So I was looking at those who favorite and alert this story and OMFG! I get favorited with the Greats! Like Shatterdoll, whitetyger123, XxOtaku-BakaxX, and Verin Mystal! I-I feel so . . . loved! THANK YOU GUYS! I truly appreciate every review, favorite, and alert I get. Thank you all so much!

* * *

**

Alfred waited impatiently by the phone for his uncle to call, Arthur, Matthew, and Ivan out shopping to give him his needed privacy. The phone squealed at the incoming transmission and he swiped it up before the first ring was even halfway through.

"Hey Uncle Dick," he greeted. His optimism strained as his mind was gnawing away at itself.

"_Alfred, you're fast. I didn't expect you to answer so quic-."_

"I was waiting," he interjected, "We need to talk."

A pause for a second, _"Alfred? Are you alright?"_

"Yeah. Perfectly fine! Why wouldn't I be alright!"

"_Because I hear your thumb in your mouth. What's going on? The Soviet doesn't have a gun up to you, does he? Say no if he does,"_ his uncle's worried voice jumbled through the phone. Alfred scowled. His Uncle had always used the Communist card to get through politics. The Senator's seat, and even a little during the presidential campaign. But if only they knew what beautiful people lived there in that place they despised. And much to his chagrin, he wasn't thinking of Ivan's sisters at that moment.

"Uncle, no! He's not even here. Arthur took him out of the house with Mattie to do some food shopping. No one is here but me," he attempted to reassure his psycho family member. But this _was_

"_So he even gave you a whole story to tell, huh? He's a sly one I'm sure. Why aren't the Secret Services taking him out if he's got you reciting lines? And where are Mattie and Arthur? Did he already take them out!"_

Alfred audibly slapped his own face, "YEAH! SURE! He's got a gun to my head, Arthur and Mattie have their brains pooling on the carpet, and the Spazz-nazz took out all your SS guys!" Silence for a moment, "I wanted to give you an update. Nothing is currently wrong."

"_Alright. Go ahead."_ He sounded suspicious.

"Relations with Ivan are actually pretty good. There are the minor arguments, but we're just acting like children. Neither of us have hit each other and Ivan is more than decent in regards to manners towards me. I don't even feel the need of a gun, even when I'm alone in a room with him."

"_Yes, but the Secret Serv-."_

"I want them called off."

A pregnant pause, _"You what?"_

Alfred took a deep breath, "I don't find them needed in this situation. Ivan isn't a bad guy. Communist or Un-Communist, (by the way, they call themselves _Socialist_ . . . like hell I know what that means) he is still a person."

"_Says the one who was so vehemently against this Soviet's existence not but four months ago?"_ his uncle countered. Four months! It had really been _THAT_ long now! He didn't notice the time passing at all.

"I changed my mind."

"_You changed your mind?"_

"Yes."

"_On what? Your people? How about your country? Even your family. You changed your mind on all those things just because some Pinko Commie brainwashed you into thinking he wasn't _'All that bad'_. Do you have any idea what is happening, or are you just that dense!"_

"Russian."

"_What?"_

Alfred took a deep breath and relaxed himself, "He's not Communist, he's Russian. And don't talk about him like that. He's my friend."

There was a pause that seemed to last a hundred years._ "Alfred, think this through-."_

"I have. Good-bye Mr. President."

And with that simple sentence, he hung up the phone and disowned all the evils his country and government stood for. He walked around the empty house and found himself entering the Russian's bedroom. He saw the book of memories lying on the covers, the gold lettering twinkling. The words didn't look like a jumbled mess of unintelligible characters. Though he still had no idea what any of them meant, they didn't look so confusing, but more exotic, beautiful even. And Ivan wasn't wrong when he called it elegant.

Alfred was alone now. No country or government to align himself with, so now he was unbiased in everything. Taking a deep breath, as though submerging himself in water, he plunged into the pages of Ivan's memories to a random page.

Alfred's eyes widened as he was left breathless by the image that met him. Tall, domed buildings that were colored blues and greens, but above all, the brilliant scarlet that seemed to be everywhere, confined in a red bricked square. And all his life he was taught to hate that color. The color of those flags, of those walls, of those buildings. Of that scarf.

Now that color just seemed so beautiful.

* * *

**A/N: Don't forget to vote on the poll. It closes at the end of the month. Hope you enjoyed! Review for me please!**

**EDIT: My friend is scary (AS BELARUS! I SWEAR SHE EVEN HASHER AS HER COMP ID!) and demanded I endorse her story on Deviant art. Her username is animewolflover and you should read it becaus it is an original story and I am Co-Author and I have a totally sexy charrie in it, so yeah. read it. The story is called East Coast Academy and we seriously have too much fun with it XD It is a romantic comedy, rated T for language. Hope you like it! READ IT OR SHE'LL KILL ME!**

**And while you're there, look me up too. I don't have stories, but I go pictures I drew. my name is red-stained-december. Look us up! ~.^**


	12. Let Me Decide

A/N: OMG! WHEN DID THIS TURN INTO A LOVE FEST! XD I don't know. In all honesty, I don't make the story, it tells me its tale and I write it out for the rest of you. The only things planned are the beginning and the end. I hope you understand. Everything is a means to an end, and this end shall be nice.

* * *

"We're home!" Arthur called as he stepped over the threshold of the house as the other two boys carried the grocery bags behind him. As the Englishman looked around, he noticed there was something wrong. It was quiet. Alfred was like a dog in the sense that, the second someone was through the door, or even knocking on it, he was there in a flash. Food, amusement, or just plain attention, Alfred wanted it from anybody and everybody. And now the boy wasn't there to greet him, as odd a term that was. "Ivan?" Arthur asked the teenager as the Russian placed his load of bags on the dining tabled, "Could you go find Alfred?"

"Of course," he said cheerily. He had missed the American during the trip, but he knew the importance of updates. He was having one next week and was quite pleased with the recent events. He made his way up the stairs calling the other's name as he walked through the hall. He checked the American's room, the other boy's room that never seemed to be around actually. Oh, wait, he was. Ivan was confused as to why he seemed to disappear right in front of him, but enough of that little mystery for now.

He then saw his door partially open though he always left it closed when absent. Suspicious, he pawed the wooden barricade aside a bit farther to reveal a dozing Alfred curled up under his covers with the photo album hanging loose in his relaxed grip. Ivan smiled and approached the bed with quiet footsteps. Gently, he sat down beside the other, careful not to disturb him as the bed dipped under his added weight, and pried the book from his slack fingers and looked at the page and frowned. He was lying in a hospital bed, bandages covering his entire body as he lay in a drug induced sleep, a pained look on his face.

He never knew what had started the fire. All he had ever known was that it happened, nothing more.

* * *

"Are you sure he's okay?" Katyusha asked again, worried for her younger brother. She never trusted the Americans after what had happened to them. A Capitalist terrorist infiltrated security and set the house on fire during the night. Yekaterina had woken up and grabbed her baby sister and fled the building, but when Ivan failed to exit as well, she ran into the flames as the firefighters worked to put out the scarlet tongues. When she found him, he was already out cold. She could never trust Capitalists; they had already hurt her Vanya so much.

"Yes, I'm sure," her uncle, Leonid Brezhnev, said sternly, trying to ease her fears, "He's a strong boy. Remember that. He was never supposed to live after those burns, but he pulled through. I'm sure he'll pull through again."

"Vanya will come back to me," the distant voice of the youngest child whispered possessively. Ever since her brother's near death experience, she never wanted him to leave her and had forced him to promise to come back. "He will come back, or I will go after him."

* * *

Alfred's eyes fluttered open. When had he fallen asleep again? He was in Ivan's bed to boot. Red with embarrassment, he went to get out when he felt two arms around his waist possessively. His heart skipped a beat as he turned his head to find a sleeping Ivan cuddling up beside him, holding him in his dreams. The American heard a steadily increasing pound in his ears as he looked at the other. He didn't feel clothing. Oh god, they were sleeping together, and Ivan was naked! His leg brushed against soft fabric. Okay, so he had pants. Nonetheless, a flooding heat rushed down from his face and to his groin. Oh god, not good thoughts, not good thoughts! But he wished he could explore them. He leaned down to the Russian boy's face; the sleeping male's mouth was parted gently in rest, and placed a butterfly-light kiss upon those pale, soft lips.

He had never kissed someone before, and he had just kissed the last person he would have ever dreamed of in the world, but he had heard this thing somewhere that each person tastes different. In an odd way, Alfred could swear he tasted _something _there. He left another, lingering, kiss, taking in the smell and taste of the other's skin and mouth. He tasted like honey and smelled like trees, as strange as it was. He smelled of a soft maple, exotic but lulling.

He pulled away, face red with blood flow. He could leave now . . . or stay. He snuggled under the covers and pressed himself closer to the pale body. He didn't give off much heat surprisingly, and the scarred flesh didn't feel as he thought it would. It was fairly smooth with a few rough splotches here and there. He made himself comfortable against the white expanse of Ivan's chest before finally allowing sleep to over take him once again.

* * *

Matthew stood outside the door with a winning smile on his face. Arthur had asked him to get the two "love birds" and he had come in at just the right time to see his brother staring at the other while he slept. Sure, it was kinda embarrassing to see his brother make out with the sleeping Russian, but now Mattie knew he wouldn't be the only one Arthur yelled at when their cousin found out. He made his way down the stairs in a giddy joy and happily told the Englishman the other two would not be joining them.

* * *

It had been so hard not to pull away from shock when those lips touched his own. Only by sheer self-control was he able to keep the blood from rushing straight to his motionless face. But when those soft, gently lips left him, he wanted more. He wanted them to come back, and when they did, they stayed longer. He could feel a tongue glide across his slightly parted lips, and the jump in his chest was almost enough to make his hands fly to the other's hair and pull him closer. But, by will alone, he stayed motionless, keeping a steady breathing pattern, and kept his emotions from getting the better of him, but how he loved the heat of the other against his skin, and the softness of his lips. They were what made his life suddenly seem worth something.

All his life he had been a tool, born and raised with no personal decisions to his own future or any regard to his choices; no one had ever asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. Nobody asked him if he had feelings for someone. Nobody even cared about his grades in school which he had bounced from extremes to see if it would ever bring anyone to care. Nobody ever cared, not even Natalya or dear sweet Katyusha. He was told what would happen, despite anything he did. He _would_ go to England as a teen ambassador to an American counterpart. He _would_ go to America to determine if the whole of the country was worthy to consider a relationship with. He _would_ do exactly as he was told.

Americans were evil, they told him. Americans are selfish, they told him. Americans were stupid, uneducated to their own systems, and even murderous. Even dear, sweet Yekaterina had told him that they were never to be trusted. They would hurt him.

"_Americans want to hurt you,"_ her voice echoed in his mind.

But the felt so safe right here, cuddled up against the little inferno that was named Alfred Felix Jones. He felt he could trust this blue-eyed spirit of happiness and untold affections. He felt like he could stay here forever.

And for once, he wouldn't do what he was told. This was _his_ life, and like hell they were going to take it from him.

* * *

**A/N: As you can see in that middle scene, we have the possessive little sister to worry about . . . HAVE FUN ALFRED! XD Some criticism and worship would be nice. XD Jkjk, the former would be nice, but make it good criticism. Don't rant my ears off please ToT**


	13. Together

**A/N: OMG! SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY (was it that long?) I HAVE BEEN BUSY! I got my braces off too~! YAY! NUTS, TAFFEY, AND BUBBLE GUM, HERE I COME!**

* * *

Once more, the energetic boy pointed to a picture, "And what's this?" he asked. The picture was of Cathedral Square and the center piece was a large gray-white building with three domed towers, two made of, what appeared to be, solid gold, the middle adorned with a large bell, and the far left one was small and blue and more of a triangular shape. However, the third's details made it just as magnificent.

"This," Ivan explained, pointing at the middle tower, "is Ivan the Great Bell Tower. It marks the heart of Moscow. The one to the right is Bono Tower. It was used to scout out enemy soldiers up to twenty miles away, and when any were seen, it would ring all twenty-one of its bells to arouse the soldiers of the Kremlin. The smallest is the steepled tower of Moscow's Patriarch Philaret. The original tower, Ivan's, was built in the sixteenth century."

Alfred had never expected such beautiful architecture. He knew Americans looked up to the Greek architects who built the shrines of false gods. Still, the work was simple compared to some of the others he had seen in this book. He turned the page again to see that beautiful, multi-domed building of before that had stolen his breath away. It still had the same effect. He pointed to it immediately and looked up to his partner for an explanation.

"St. Basil's Cathedral, this isn't really in the Kremlin, it actually sits just outside. It isn't a church any more, however, now it is a museum. And in reality, each dome is its own church and building, all clustered to look that way. It was commissioned by Ivan the Awesome in 1552 to eight individual architects who built their own respective church after the Russian victory over the Tartars. Each are named after the saints of the eight days that the eight major victories were achieved."

"It's beautiful," Alfred muttered, staring at it intently.

"_Da_, it is," Ivan smiled, "Most churches at home were turned into museums since Stalin wanted a country of atheism. That is probably why Americans call us Godless Demons. To correct such thinking, the majority of the country remained with the Eastern Orthodox Church. God is very much a part of our lives Alfred."

The American nodded, taking in the correction of what he was taught. So Stalin was a Godless Demon, but Russians weren't. Not any more than Americans were with the rising appeal of atheism. He could feel their level ground closing together and gluing shut. They were one and the same, two boys from respected families and wide connections. Alfred had his twin brother, Ivan had his lovely sisters.

And they both had each other.

The thing was, though, Alfred didn't know how to bring up a certain problem he had. He very well couldn't say, _"Hey, I sneaked a kiss while you were clocked out and, well, I really like you. Wanna be all fruity-fruity gay with me?"_ He banged his head on the table as his face heated up in embarrassment. That's right, he was _GAY_ now! He had just admitted to himself that he liked another guy.

'_Yeah, smooth Alfie. You know, with those good looks and everything comes another PENIS! And no pun intended you sick, demented, faggo-!'_

"Alfred?" Ivan asked curiously. The other slammed his head down so hard, it made the other jump. He was also making very strange faces and muttering incoherently, which wasn't a good sign. He caught sight of the furious blush on the other's cheeks as he shot up to look him in the eye. How cute, he must have been thinking about their kiss. What should he do in this situation? Perhaps calm Alfred down, since he had gone back to unintelligent phrases, but now they were aimed at him and he didn't understand the other at all, worse, he couldn't get a word in edgewise. He tapped his finger in thought of how to bring it up when the American silenced, but by now he was too busy pondering to notice. Suddenly, his scarf was pulled and he found himself in a war of tongues with Alfred.

At first, he was too shocked to respond to the muscle invading his mouth and molesting every inch it could find, but the action became a welcome one. They sat like that for a while, outwardly content with being in an opened mouth lip-lock, but inside was a battle that dwarfed the Second World War as a whole. They refused to pull away, settling for suffocation before being pried apart. Finally, instinct overtook passion and they broke apart, panting heavily, their breath mingling together from their proximity. Both their lips were bruised from the sheer force of their kiss. Alfred couldn't help but notice the small cut in Ivan's bottom lip where he had bitten the tender flesh, enough to draw a small drop of crimson. It intensified his desire when combined with the small pools of tears in the other's eyes. He looked so . . . fragile.

"A-Alfred . . ." Ivan whispered as he noticed the other drawing closer.

"Mmm?"

Their breath mixed and they could feel the brush of each other's lips, "The project."

"Fuck the project-." He was cut off by the sound of something hitting the floor. Both turned quickly to see Arthur fainted on the kitchen floor, his face as pale as a sheet. The two teens looked at each other and back at him.

"Maybe we _should_ work on that project Alfred?"

"Looks like it. Damn Englishman, acts as though he's never seen two guys make out," the American grumbled. They dragged him to the couch and covered him in a blanket. Perhaps he'd think he dreamed the entire thing up.

* * *

Alfred sat at his desk worried. They had presented the project, which had been rocky in of itself. The other students didn't like the idea of learning about the USSR from a Russian, thinking they'd be brainwashed or something. It was changed from hatred to confusion when Alfred was the one talking about all the pictures and telling about the one country he swore to hate more than the devil himself. Now they were waiting for their grade. He needed an A on this project to graduate, simple as that. The papers were being handed out. He closed his eyes, crossed his fingers and . . .

_A+ Great job Alfred!_

Alfred gawked at the grade. He passed; he actually passed, with the highest grade possible. Holy cow! He looked to Ivan who was smiling brightly, a genuine smile. He gave his friend (_Okay, boyfriend, he can't get around it now_) a huge thumbs up. They would be graduating together!

* * *

Katyusha ran into the room happily, "Ivan called Natalya! He'll be graduating in three weeks!"

"Good."

"He'll be heading over to the states almost immediately after!" Yekaterina explained, her own worry etched on her face despite the happy tone of her voice.

Natalya's blue eyes cut into her sister like a knife, "I will visit him in the states."

"Ah! Natasha, you know how danger-."

"Vanya did it, I can do it too," she assured in her commanding tone.

Katyusha nodded and left the room. Never, in a million years, would she tell her sister that their brother had fallen in love. Especially with a Capitalist: Alfred F. Jones.

* * *

**A/N: YAY! AMERICA, AMERICA!**


	14. Out of the Frying Pan

"Alfred Felix Jones!" The principal called out as the energetic blond stepped from the wings and waved to the crowed in his cap and gown, his eyes showing brighter than ever. He made a dramatic bow which called for some more cheers and whistles. He had always been popular in the school. Still, no one was happier for him than Ivan who had decided to not walk for graduation, despite Alfred's protests. He had still come to the graduation, clapping loudly for the one he loved. After the ceremony, Gilbert had come with them; the two couples shared kisses with their respective partners until Arthur shouted at them to quit snogging and act mature.

"We just _now_ graduated Artie! I think we have a right to be idiots a bit longer. Mattie, Ivan and I are all still seventeen!" Alfred whined, "And I think that graduating from high school is enough of a reason to "Snog" to our heart's content."

"You better not get a stonker if you insist upon keeping those actions going," the Brit hissed as they pulled into the driveway.

"I can't believe we'll be leaving this place in three days," Mattie mused as all four walked up the steps, "And heading back to the states."

They sat in Alfred's room, watching the television and talking about nothing in particular when Arthur called from the living room, "Ivan! Phone!"

The Russian blinked confused, but excused himself and hurried down the stairs to the device. "Allo?"

"_Brata? It's me. I was just calling to ask about the graduation. How was it? Did you go on stage?"_ his little sister's voice asked excitedly.

"Ah! Natalya! The graduation was wonderful, but no, I did not _walk_ as Alfred put it. We will be in that states very soon however. Not much time to celebrate," he explained. Despite how composed he sounded, his fingers twisted the cord of the phone nervously.

"_That is wonderful to hear Vanya! You are safe, yes? Should I come and see you before you leave to that wretched United States of Poverty?"_

"AH! Nyet, no," he exclaimed worried. Last thing he needed was his sweet little sister to do something to Alfred . . . even if she wasn't so sweet, "We'll be leaving very soon. I'll be home an a year, so you wait for me, da?"

A small pause, _"Da. I'll wait."_

* * *

She hung up the phone a little after. Like hell she would wait, he was hiding something and something _big_. Was he being held captive; maybe even being tortured in between it all? The thought infuriated her to no end. She would go to the states, her plane left tomorrow. Either she'd find him or he'd find her waiting. She would not leave him alone in such a place.

"District of Columbia, here I come."

* * *

"You all have everything you need, right? You won't be calling me to mail any of your crap over the bloody ocean, are you?" Arthur double checked. He was being more of an arse as of late, but that was because he was never good with his emotions. Neither was Gilbert for that matter, who was crossing his arms and pouting to keep himself from crying over his departing boyfriend.

"Two years and boom, you're leaving," the albino glowered, "This is seriously _NOT_ awesome Mattie."

The Canadian smiled softly and pressed his lips to the other's briefly, they were in public after all. The less people saw, the better. "We'll see each other soon enough, don't worry."

"Alright. And you better call me at least once a week, and I'll always be at home at eight in the evening," Gilbert asserted, giving a kicked-puppy look, but nothing he could do about it.

"I will," Matthew giggled.

Arthur cleared his throat, "Alright, you three get your arses on that plane, call me once you get home so I don't worry forever about whether or not you're all still alive."

"We will~!" the twins chorused and Ivan simply smiled and nodded. Alfred hugged his cousin tight before they left to board, it would be a flight.

* * *

They stepped off the plane in DC, looking around the terminal. They were tired, doing nothing but talking the entire time and refusing to sleep. At least, the twins were. Ivan had actually napped away half the time on the craft, so while he carried the bags, the other two dragged themselves behind him.

"VANYA!" a voice through the crowd alerted him.

His blood ran cold as he say the white bow weaving through the crowd.

"N-Natasha!"

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I'm sorry Ivan, I had to cause even more conflict. Let's forget the fact that, oh, Alfred is now a Red to his family and he'll have to bring one home, not knowing they are lovers. NOW Alfred has to take two Communists home and, if that wasn't hard enough, prove to Natalya that he is good for Ivan. Poor, poor Alfie~ XD Well, these are the six I promised, so I'll be going through other stories *cough WALKWITHINMYPOETRY*cough* since I realized that I left ONE of them with a very horrible cliff-hanger. I felt soooo mean! XD**


	15. Author Notes    yeah srry

**A/N: I'm sorry if you got your hopes up T.T But I wanted to address some things pointed out by some reviewers *cough*DS*cough*. I know it seems to change into "Wide-open arms" in a short amount of time, but there is a very sneakily slipped time difference from that one chapter (7) to the next (8) with the project. I skipped from somewhere in the beginning of a second semester of a senior year to the very, very end of the year. So I may not have stated it, but I would have thought the weather mentioned in the first chapter would give away that it was winter and the time I stated in the later chapters would give away a time skip. This didn't all happen in a matter of days/weeks ^^;; Sorry if that was extremely confusing, I'm not one to really put **_**'Three months later'**_** into a story . . . gomen. *ashamed***

**And I would not say that I am not focusing on it, but I know very much about how other countries regarded Russia and how Russia regarded America, but the only way I can see Russia talking down America is that "You're greedy". . . well . . . we kinda are. When Russia fell into economic turmoil during the Cold War, everyone besides political figures were poor. When we reach economic trouble, we can't get out of it because, being capitalist, the poor loose any money we have and the rich cling to theirs with a vice grip, leaving no money to circulate. People lose jobs, the poor get even poorer; the people with the money, the CEOs of the companies that are laying people off get even more money because they aren't giving it to that one worker who now has no way to put food on the table. I can't see where the Russian propaganda is that: propaganda. That is exactly how our country works. Yes, there was always "THEY'LL BLOW YOU UP" going on, but otherwise, anything they said about how evil and greedy our country was (and still is) not too off the mark.**

**I haven't really focused on the Russian side because, and let's face it, we have only one Russian we are focusing on and he is in no place to talk about how he feels or has been taught since I am mainly going along with Alfred's side of things. Also, I am guilty of bias because I am a "Commie" as many children like to shout across the cafeteria as they hurl their salads and milk at me. So you may see my point in not exactly liking Americans in what they stand for with their "Free Market" system and their deeply rooted propaganda where they don't even know what Communism was supposed to be and are too narrow-minded to look for more than they are told. No offense to those who do, I am simply generalizing which may not be the right thing, but it is what I have gone through first-hand.**

**I am sorry for my mistakes that I have made, I am currently working on chapter five and I shall be changing some historical events. I would say I'm sorry for that . . . but I'm not XD Bear with me please; it should be out by the middle of this month, maybe the beginning of the next. Peace out~**


	16. Not a Very Happy Meeting

She finally made it so no capitalist pigs stood between her and her beloved brother. She ran and jumped into his arms at such a force that it knocked him to the ground. Some passersby glanced at the two whom they assumed to be love-birds before shaking their head at such a shameless display, but hey, this was the Seventy's. Hippies and mud girls were just beginning to ebb, but still it was very much alive. Peace and love, right? As it was, Natalya was showering her brother with kisses while his American boyfriend just stared, not exactly knowing what just happened.

"Uh . . . Ivan?" Alfred asked with a raised eyebrow, "What are you doing?"

Natalya looked up and took in the sight of the boy wearing denim pants and a disgusting American flag shirt. This must be the American whom had placed her brother under such horrible trials for the past six months. She frowned, he didn't look very adept in torture, then again, he didn't look quite adept at anything. Actually, he looked pretty stupid from where she stood . . . well, lay. She climbed off her brother and pulled him to his feet before dusting herself off and then him.

"Natasha," he smiled sheepishly, his sister was known for her horrible moods, "What are you doing here . . . in America?"

"Isn't it obvious Vanya? I came to make sure you are unharmed. Who knows what can happen to you here, you're too nice all the time. And especially with _him_!" Her voice sounded so sweet, Alfred thought for a moment he could actually regain his masculinity and actually have the balls to like a girl . . . until that very last sentence. Her voice . . . was so . . . fucking SCARY! The American yelped and dived behind Ivan, praying that his big, strong boyfriend could protect him. Much to his utter horror, the Russian was shaking even worst than he could! After a few seconds, however, something clicked. She looked so much like Ivan, the pieces just sort of fell into place.

"You're the little sister, Natalya. I saw your picture in the book," he explained, stepping forward, no longer really scared, but more curious, "You look even prettier in person."

"Flattery will get you nowhere boy," she snapped, glaring evil daggers. Alfred yipped and fell back against his boyfriend. "And stop touching my brother with your filthy, greedy hands!"

"N-Natalya, A-Alfred and I have come to agreement. That is what we were supposed to do," Ivan smiled weakly, taking her dainty hands in his own, an awkward-ish smile. "Why do we not discuss this in a more suited setting?"

Alfred leaned over to the tall Russian, "What sort of setting are you looking for?"

Ivan's smile stayed put as he looked down to the blonde from the courner of his eye, "Something that is amicably American, if there is such a thing." Alfred frowned at the comment. Oh he had just the thing in mind too! He grabbed Ivan's arm and started dragging him away, in turn pulling Natalya along.

And so that was how they wound up at a table in the McDonalds down the street from the terminal staring at each other intently. By the time the fries arrived, Alfred had suddenly come to realize that his All-American, patriotic family now had, not one, but _two_ Russians to house!

"Is something wrong?" Ivan asked, noticing how pale the other had become.

Alfred looked up, his ocean blue eyes glanced up wearily. Life hated him, didn't it? "I'm just wondering what my folks will be saying."

"Oh?" the violet eyed young man asked, "What would they say?"

"What is this!" Natalya exclaimed in shock, staring at the strange American food that looked too grotesque to consume into her being.

Alfred smiled weakly, "Something along those lines."

* * *

**A/N: When I fail, I fail hard. In all these months since my latest chapter I have improved so much in my writing. I know this is horrendously short and horrible, but it was all that the chapter told me. I hope it wasn't too bad . . . OTL**


End file.
